


billet-doux

by Tarredion



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Punk, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Rivalry, Secret Admirer, Slow Burn, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion
Summary: Dan and Phil, gang leaders and rivals to the highest degree, harbor big secrets they want no one to see
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2019





	billet-doux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dayevsphil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/gifts).



> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Queerdaniel! - and on with this thicc boi

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“When are you going to get yourself a new girlfriend?”

Phil freezes with his lips just about closed around the icy metal spoon. His eyes shoot up from glaring into the smooth, milky depths of the cereal bowl, landing on his strawberry blonde brother, who’s sitting across the well-polished dining table wearing a self satisfied smirk and looking  _ extra _ smug. 

“mmbh-”

“I said: when are you going to get yourself a new girlfriend?” he repeats, leaning over the table while propped up on his tattoo clad elbows. He rarely wore short sleeved shirts but today he was. “It’s been a while since you and  _ Candice _ broke up.” 

**_A while!_** Phil thinks, suddenly furious _._ ** _More like two weeks._**

Averting his eyes, Phil swallows down the reminiscence of breakfast. He takes the spoon out of his mouth, which makes a  _ clink!  _ as it collides with his snakebites. 

He really hates the tone Martyn is using, and he especially hates being the subject of ‘girlfriend-chats’, so he takes extra long to swirl his tongue around the spoon and lap up the excess milk drops.

Finally he finishes, letting the spoon fall onto the table on its own accord, and he doesn’t bite his tongue like he usually would. The last couple of weeks have been filled with questions like these, from all around, and he understands that some come from concern and others don’t. It’s just that every single one of them is getting on the punk’s nerves just a bit more than usual.

“What about it?” he says, crossing his arms. “What about it… what if I don’t want another girlfriend? What if I care ‘bout friends? What if I care more about school?” 

He earns a scoff and an eyeroll from Martyn for that last one. He’s got the message and is leaning back in his chair again, but his arms are just as tightly crossed as Phil’s are. It’s not hard for him to tell when lies echo in the house, and it’s something he’s made very clear he dislikes, to everyone from their parents to the worms in the garden.

“As if you’re going to make more effort than it takes to graduate.” he says. Phil rolls his eyes right back at him. The action makes a different, sharper, harder tone appear in his brother’s voice. “Seriously, Philip. It’s fine if you don’t want another girlfriend, but if you lie about why it’ll just arouse more suspicion-”

“Lies and lies... Suspicion and suspicion…”

“It’s true! You’re already a troublemaker and a rebel, and you have your own gang from what I’ve heard. Lying about your intentions can get you in serious trouble. All I want to do is keep. you. safe.”

Phil scoffs, disheartened but also trying his best to stay calm, stay collected, and keep up his tough appearance. He may be a bit softer and sweeter than he makes himself out to be in public, but he certainly doesn’t want to be called vulnerable or unable to fend for himself. Not in any situation.

“And why would  _ I _ care about any of these ‘suspicions’ you talk about?” He makes intense air quotes while trying once more to not make eye contact with his brother.

Martyn grimaces. “I just…” he says. His voice fades, then goes quiet and softens as he gathers himself. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Try to stay out of trouble. And maybe do get yourself another girlfriend, but if not, make sure you’re not lying about it.”

Before Phil is able to conjure up a response, witty or not, Martyn rises, the sound of his chair scraping along the tiled floor scratchy and hard on the ears. 

He swerves around the table, gives Phil’s bluish black quiff a determined ruffle, and then the kitchen is once again empty. A small late November breeze makes its way inside as the door to the outside opens and then slams shut, but not a second later existence becomes silent, cold, and devoid.

With a sigh, Phil decides he can’t stick around for much longer. His feelings are bubbling up, and soon he’ll be a temper bomb, ticking away.

He decides, despite what his gang, The Vipers, will say, that his best bet to be able to run from his current feelings is to show up to school early. He desperately hopes  _ Howell _ and his delinquents won’t be there when he arrives, though they usually are, so he tries to push away the gut wrenching feeling that he’s up to wishful thinking.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

The red brick is rough, scuffed, and pebbly. It pricks into Dan’s palms as he grasps the ledge, trying to hoist himself up onto the wall that lines the school premises. Still, the slight bleeding and the pain is enough to distract him from the bony, pale, midnight framed face he’s been unable to get out of his head for however long. He hates thinking of him so much, and his stomach churns as he remembers how  _ pretty _ he is.

**_He’s not pretty!_ ** he thinks to himself.  **_Not in the slightest, Dan. He must be the ugliest and foulest of all vermin on earth! He’s a rival and a foul playing, bad looking one at that!_ **

Lies hurt.

To his left there’s a chorus of huffs and puffs, as two of his (significantly shorter) companions try to copy him. Just as Dan is able to gather enough force and swing his leg over the edge of the wall, now laying flat on his stomach, there’s a cry and the ringing noises of tumult as they collapse.

Peering over the edge, he surveys the heap of limbs that lays below him.

“How’s it going down there!?” he shouts, pulling himself up into a sitting position, his new skinny jeans stretching uncomfortably. He’s barely able to hold his laughter in, and a loud snort escapes his lips as Louise  _ flips the bird _ at him.

Once they’re up and out of the dirt, they scowl at his smirk. Louise crosses her arms, and PJ shakes his head bitterly. 

“Oh shut up, will you-” 

“Didn’t say anything.”

PJ, knowing he’s right, turns away swiftly, leaving Dan to sit in silence. No one complains but for his own brain, and he tries desperately to shut out the imposing lanky limbs, graphic tees, tattoos, and deep blue leather jacket. 

He dangles his legs loosely, and for a moment he feels like a stupid little kid and not a seventeen year old with his own little gang. He toys with the hem of what happens to be his absolute blackest black leather jacket, then moves his hand up and plays with the zipper, exposing the equally black tee underneath it. 

Trying to distract himself even more, he glances out over the empty street lined with high end houses and tries to count the number of cars in each driveway.

Big mistake, he realises curtly. He recognises the brooding sound of Lester’s expensive, shiny ride immediately, even from a mile away, so it’s to no surprise when the car glides up the street and to the front of the school. Very off schedule for his rival, but all Dan can feel and think of is the unsure prickling running up and down his arms, and wondering if it’s anger or fluttering brewing in his gut.

He hopes he looks presentable, then forces himself to think of other things, like the grey smoke or the grey ground or the reminiscence of a puddle...

Louise and PJ have both also stopped scowling, and while PJ is following the silver car with squinted eyes, Louise tugs at her black and red dress while she watches Dan with an expectancy rumbling in the air. Dan tries not to think too hard about it, shaking the look off, and puts on his best tough face and tone.

“Look who it is…” PJ mumbles, poison on his tongue. He’s never said it out loud, unlike Dan who bickers with him and audibly scowls about him every day, but it’s very apparent that he hates Lester’s guts. He’s the one trying to actively get in fistfights with him over territory, all the time, and he doesn’t even lead the gang.

Although it may have different connotations than Dan’s ‘hate’, to PJ, all of the hatred is life and death.

As Lester steps out onto the drive, his snakebites, tattoos, and eyebrow piercings are on full display, of which Dan feels rightly jealous (and despicably jittery about). He builds up the courage to say something particularly mean. He really doesn’t feel like disappointing his most loyal and toughest followers so soon after school began again. 

Dan jumps off the wall just as the door locks with a chiming  _ click clack! _

“Little bit early for a  _ rat  _ like you, Lester!” he spits, and Lester promptly spins around, pulling his hand off the car door. They’re only a couple of feet away from each other, and tension runs high in the air like electricity in water. “Who’d have thought you’d have tried coming onto school grounds without your little bodyguards, usually being such a  _ wimp _ .” 

A smirk falls onto Lester’s lips, as always when he’s preparing for an extra snarky comeback, and  _ fuck  _ is he hot pushing his hair back like that and having his tongue play with his snakebite at the same time. 

Dan’s very glad it’s not his turn to speak, because that image doesn’t lead to a line of thought that’ll make him anything but lost for words. He tries to mentally reprimand himself for letting his mouth water behind his firmly shut lips, but it doesn’t really work too well.

“As far as I see it, you’re the only coward here, Howell. Always trotting around with your little gang at your heels…” 

“Well at least I could spit on your fancy shoes  _ myself _ if I really wanted to!”

“If?” Lester responds, and he sounds so dreadfully satisfied Dan feels a surge run through him, all of his instincts screaming at him to raise his fists, and for whatever reason  _ kiss him _ pounds in his ears at the same time. “Are you too scared to actually do it? Or do you not want to see me hurt?”

It’s too much.

Blood boiling, it’s with every muscle in his body that Dan stands his ground and doesn’t immediately throw himself at him. 

**_Lester and his stupid looks, Lester and his stupid car, stupid Lester and his stupid remarks. Stupid rival and stupid territory. Stupidstupidstupi- Bah!_ ** he thinks, and then he’s swivelled around to the shock of all three of them, and is stomping off down the street. 

He’s not going to be bothered glancing back, but he can feel their glances become lances, piercing and prodding him. 

Then there’s a mild commotion in the distance, the sounds of loud, exasperated, even angry voices echoing, and as one thing leads to another a clatter of steps follow him. Hastily. 

Clearly rambling and asking too many questions, PJ’s voice appears on his right, and Dan tries every technique in the book to block him out. PJ is usually nice enough, but whatever is within Dan’s bloodstream right now… if it’s anger, he doesn’t want to risk losing control and taking it out on one of his few actual friends.

Finally they round the corner. He can see Louise’s empathetic yet curious (questioning) look appear once more and shrugs in response. He doesn’t feel like he would happily answer any questions. Not when thinking about _stupid_ _Lester_. That _rat_. **_Pretty, pretty rat._**

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

English class has never been more dull. Ms. Fletcher’s monotone voice drones on and on and on about seemingly random historical figures and authors and about their boring lives and equally boring deaths. 

Phil can’t stop thinking about the incident two days earlier. The way Howell acted was rather strange, atypical at best. One moment he was standing there rooted on the spot in his  _ tight _ pants, seemingly about to strike a punch; the next he was forcing his arms to his side. 

And then he just ran away. __

**_Like a coward_** **,** Phil thinks. **_Didn’t he prove me right. He’s a coward, and that’s it._**

Acid burns in his mouth as he sounds the phrase out in his head. It’s a new feeling, and a rather strange one. One he hates to think about as much as he hated to think about his rival.

**_Hates. Hates_ ** _ ,  _ he has to remind himself. He hates that.

He traces the edge of the brand new tattoo on his forearm. As the heat from his fingertips transfer onto the sore, healing skin the paint’s setting into, he bites his lip to stop himself from visibly flinching, snakebites clinking against his teeth. 

A soft-looking teddy bear is the subject of the image, glassy chocolate baubles peering up at him. 

He got it the same day as the incident, though he’s certain the two have no connection. He doesn’t ponder why he has to try and convince himself that.

The bear evokes a certain fondness within him, one Phil’s unfamiliar with, and something about the soft-looking, curly, brown fur fills his body to the brim with a fumbling flutter. His beating, swelling heart and joy certainly don’t have feasible explanations, either. Maybe it’s a reference to a cartoon he watched as a child, but there seems to be a bit more than nostalgia lurking in his bones. He tries to shake the feelings off, but it does no good, and he gets a significant amount of his own black hair in his eye.

The appearance of the English teacher in front of him as he’s able to see clearly again makes him jump, nearly slamming his chins into the table on the way down. He’s grateful he’s able to keep a stoic face at all times, for he does not like hers.

She’s leaning with her crossed arms placed firmly onto the rough wood. A stern, cold expression envails her features, but there’s an almost invisible, mischievous glint in her eye that makes him severely uneasy. She’s making eye contact but moving her gaze to his fingers on his resting arm every few seconds. 

In that moment, he also realises every other eye in the room is lingering on him, or more commonly, trying not to glance in the direction of his desk by the outer wall.

“Does Mr. Lester have something to say, or his he going to think about chocolate curls all day?” she says. The question sounds innocent enough to the untrained ear, but there’s something about the drawl she puts on the words that makes Phil squint and glare at her. Venom boils in his gut, and at the same time an infeasible shame and fluttering rise together into his esophagus, like his stomach is a cola bottle and her words are mentos. Not a word from him is able to sipper out with it.

With as nonchalantly of a gesture towards him as possible, she rises, and it silences the sniggers he’d not noticed were going off from multiple people in the room. 

Gazing around, he eyes all of his classmates suspiciously, but they’ve all built their walls of defence anew. Some are nervously fidgeting, but most are listening (half-heartedly) to Fletcher again, looking away from him, and she continues the lesson while minding her business. They don’t spare each other a second glance.

But within seconds Phil feels a hot breath on his ear. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who sits behind him in this class. 

Cat. Leader of the Black Dahlia Sisterhood. And unlike Howell she isn’t his rival, never causes real territorial trouble, and actually helps him occasionally. They even hang out sometimes, even though one of his three exes is part of her gang, and he isn’t on speaking terms with  _ any _ of his exes. 

Her only downside is that she is also on good terms, even on friendly terms, with the Delinquent gang leader, and she has a real ear for gossip with a big mouth to go with it.

Icy metal spikes sting him when he realises she’ll most definitely relay the snark comment from Ms. Fletcher to not only his gang and friends and the whole school, but directly to Howell’s ear. She has done that before with other people, more times than he could count. She’ll never let him live this one down.

That devilish smile of hers doesn’t bode any good, and now he can feel it right next to him. It widens as she speaks, sounding smug as ever. “You’re  _ blushing,  _ Lester.” He really wishes she’s wrong, but the heat truly is snaking its way up his neck and face and ears. She continues shortly, a colour in her voice he’s only heard once before: “Suppose you really were thinking of brownielocks, huh. Sure got that tattoo to remind yourself of him, eh.”

Phil bites his lip to try and stop himself from spinning around and shouting in her face. His head’s pounding and blood running cold. It’s not true, not one bit. And yet, something swirls in the depth of his emotional ocean… 

It’s the thing she says next that truly throws him off balance, even if he has practically sewn his lips shut; “Sure you like his curls when they’re all sweaty just as much as when they’re frizzed by the wind. Sure you imagine yourself running your hands all over his tan skin. Hugging him and pressing your lips to him so  _ sweetly _ .”

Phil’s breath hitches. God, he can imagine those sights, even if he definitely doesn’t wish to see his rival and himself in that situation. Definitely.

“Wish you could oh so  _ innocently  _ place a kiss in his nest of hair, run your hands through it. Take his hand in yours. When did you get that tattoo? After the run-in on Monday we’ve all heard about. Thought you could hide it? Thought we would forget?” she whispers. “Sure you thought he was so sweet not punching you in the face. Sure you liked his scowling face and feisty attitude all the same.”

Her presence is immediately retracted from his personal bubble, and the bell rings as loud as an explosion just a second later, initiating a deafening screeching of people and scratching of chairs. Clearly the world’s against him, and he’ll be unable to confront her and tell her to zip it.

Phil doesn’t rise immediately as everyone else is, even Ms. Fletcher. He has to let out the deep breath he’s been holding. His skin itches relentlessly, and his stomach’s growling. There was something more with the conversation than the words that prick his limbs.

He’s unable to pinpoint it.

Leaving the room is the only option.

Her words echo over and over in his head. They drown out all other sensory inputs around him as he traverses through the crowded hall, and the crowds part for him as usual. Some people duck away, some run off and away from him. Some try to hold their ground and try to look like they don’t care. Most do. Some faces look apprehensive, while some eyes hone great respect. 

On most days Phil wouldn’t have noticed the worry in their eyes. He’d have made his way to the cafeteria to meet up with the rest of the gang without more trouble than maybe smacking someone out of the way or spitting at the feet of a Delinquent.

Now it makes his heart race, and he quickens his pace to match the beat.

Wrong was one word he had never thought to associate with the territories and high school gang culture. This time something unknown settles in his stomach that tells him he thinks differently, and it’s enough to set him off his lunch. And still he goes forward towards the smell of food.

Dark brown and shoulder length hair, Cat stands next to Patricia and Justine (his ex) in the middle of the hall, both clad in black clothes and piercings of all kinds, and unceremoniously chatting away. 

Their usual nesting ground of tables next to the lunch line are occupied, and it seems like whatever the topic of conversation is, it can’t wait for the junior jocks to finish.

Seniors, that’s what he and Howell are. Classmates, despite their flying tempers and 6 month age difference.

They had both transferred to the school from different parts of the country after freshman year.

They rarely talked as sophomores, too busy building their own reputations and cliques. But an incident at a party in the beginning of junior year had set a dangerous game into motion. That was also when the territories and animosity began.

And honestly he doesn’t know why Howell hates him so much for that night. It’s not like he had actually done anything wrong. Nothing had happened that he could’ve been hated for. Suddenly Howell had been maddened and punched him in the gut! Even Cat had been unknowing of a reason, or at least didn’t want to tell if she did know.

He wishes things never went so wrong, no matter why they did.

He wishes they don’t hate each other.

He wishes they were never rivals to begin with-

Hissing and hushed whispers Phil had heard running circles around the hall as he got closer drop dead the moment his foot goes through the door frame. It makes him feel (rightfully) suspicious, and his glances make many cower on their benches, but the flame of seething anger diminishes when Cat turns to face him. She smiles. 

His thoughts are riling but he tries to not think too much about anything in the moment.

“Suppose you haven’t seen Sean, Zoe or Skittles around, have you?” he asks. The one who speaks up is Patricia.

“Got a new nickname for Tom,” she says as she cocks an eyebrow at him. The piercings set in a flower esque pattern above her brow glisten contrastingly with her pretty tan.  **_Just a bit like Howell’s, and that’s wh-_ **

**_No. Don’t think about that._ **

Unexplained, a shock goes through his body and he swivels on the spot. For whatever reason towards the senior jocks who sit with the popular girls on the right side of the hall, and they’re in commotion. Something about it makes all of his senses react.

One of them is standing up. They don’t like the gang control but are usually harmless, but in this moment Phil feels like he’s about to be shot.

“Hey Lester!” he blurts, blonde, short hair falling in his eyes, and the whole hall goes silent. He’s acutely aware of loud footsteps approaching, but the silence and anticipation from the student body drowns it. One of the guy’s friends tries to pull him down by his team jacket, but to no avail.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“HEY Lester!” echoes as Dan approaches the doors, and it’s impossible to not take note that the jock shouting looks like an absolute maniac.

**_No clue what he’s doing… clearly,_ ** Dan thinks. Anyone has to be mad to shout at Lester like that, in front of the whole school is no exception, even if you are his biggest rival.

The footsteps of him and his Delinquents approaching don’t seem to deter the guy off his mission one bit. As a matter of fact, it seems to egg him on even more. He lifts an accusatory finger at Lester, who stands wide eyed with his mouth gaping next to the Black Dahlia gang. His feelings are all the same undecipherable.

“Go make out with your boYFriEnD now that he’s here! God, I’ve heard of the vile things you do while thinking about his pretty eyes, tan, and brown locKS! Fuck off and kiss his arse, but I bet you already do that!”

Dan freezes just as his foot makes contact with the greasy, grey tiled floor.

The whole world seems to be spinning, or maybe it’s going in slow motion. He can’t be sure. The Vipers in one corner of the room and the Black Dahlia sisters by Lester are both trying to ignore Dan’s presence and stare him down at the same time. His own delinquents are eyeing him expectantly, probably wanting him to go put either Lester, the jock, or both in their places with a hard punch. And Louise seems particularly curious of what his next move could be.

The rest of the students glance feverishly between all three clusters. Something runs in the air and Dan feels completely out of control, for once.

A shout, followed by three or four other, echo from The Vipers’ usual spot. Phrases like  _ Beat him up! _ and  _ Show him some manners! _ among words like  _ lies _ . The commotion spreads to the rest of the crowd, meaning shortly the whole room’s in chaos, food and chairs swirling in the air with Lester rooted in the middle.

Something as chaotic shakes beneath the walls and locks and traps of Dan’s brain.

**_Pretty eyes._ **

**_Tan._ **

**_Brown locks._ **

**_Arse._ **

**_Oh._ **

**_Shitshitshit._ **

He feels like he’s going to have a heart attack, his heart is beating so fast, which means he barely notices that Anthony, team captain, has gotten the crazed madman off his feet and is dragging him towards the entrance by his collar. Where him and Delinquents are still standing.

What he can’t help but notice: Lester is still not moving. He seems rooted on the spot like an oak and his gorgeous shining blue eyes wide with worry, still as ice. Dan recognizes a twitch in his limbs but he stands strong, and he tries not to think about how his stoic pose makes him seem ethereal in the middle of the tumult. Beautiful, and rather intimidating with how still he stands. 

Yet that twitch seems familiar. It’s as if he’s defying all of his instincts. The both of them are. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Everything is collapsing around him. Even Cat and  _ Candice _ are chucking food around. That’s not his focus, however. Phil can’t be less than baffled at the words that have just been shouted at him. He feels trapped and is still trying to deny that there is any truth to the words. There certainly can’t be.

Him and Howell hate each other. Him and Howell are rivals. Rivals could never-

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” bellows a voice with such an explosive presence even Phil is about to jump out of his skin. He sweeps around and sees the broad, bald principal thundering down the corridor, and he almost pummels into the mess of students that’s starting to die down and shortly does.

You could hear a pin drop. The principal eyes Phil with his nostrils flaring, as he was expecting to see how the gangs always caused trouble, but seeing him unscathed and without any food residue on him, he turns promptly to the brunette by his side.

Howell raises his arms, and he gets a searching glare in response, but of course he hasn’t done any wrong either.

For the first time in forever, the two gang leader rivals are not going into suspension or detention (together, usually) when chaos occurred. Phil feels relief for that, not that he is at all bothered by detention. It’s a price he is willing to pay to keep his reputation and himself safe.

There is also  _ something else _ growing in his chest, for both of them go unscaved; a mild disappointment that he and Howell won’t be stuck all alone in a cramped classroom for three hours. Phil doesn’t like that last feeling at all- not. at. all. It feels like he is about to burst in flutterings  _ and  _ like falling eternally with a swooping stomach. 

Just as the principal has turned his back on the hall, while ordering that the students all leave in order, he stops a couple of steps down the hallway.

“Suspension and weekend detention for all students in participation! I will be looking over the security footage personally! All classes dismissed for the afternoon and until next Monday so we can fix this mess!” he says, loudly enough for it to echo around to every ear within the school walls.

And then he’s gone.

Relief is a powerful wave, and Phil is a bare rock by the sea. Out of school! Dismissed without a warning or a loss on his behalf! Sure, the gang is going to be separated and will have to cancel plans for the weekend because of detention of all things, but it’s only Wednesday and two and a half days of extra free time is a gracious gift.

He is just about to turn towards The Vipers now that he knows where they are and get them all out of there when Anthony walks back in. Phil stops dead in his tracks at the face he’s making. He looks utterly satisfied, and not a second too soon does he find out why.

“Party at mine on Friday night! Get partying at your own will or get sloshed before detention, if you’ve got it! You all know my address, and everybody’s invited!”

The cheer that shakes the very walls and windows is nothing like he’d heard in a long time. It makes Anthony beam even more, if that is even possible. Phil raises an eyebrow in his direction, and gets a confident wave and a wide grin sent right back at him. 

He knows Anthony plays games, but it certainly does not seem like he is teasing or being mischievous, at least not with Phil in mind. (Anthony targets  _ anyone  _ with his tricks and often does pranks or set people up on blind dates with their worst enemy, or crushes if they had one but make it a bad one. But he never stands up against the gangs, so he never bothers any of them too much.) 

In the corner of his eye he sees Howell’s brown gemstones erratically grazing them. Or maybe there is a different look in his eyes, one which Phil does not recognise. That’s when it hits him that both of the gangs will be at the party. He sighs loudly, almost wishing someone will hear and care. Friday certainly will be a long night.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“So you’re going out to a party tonight. That’s why you’re not watching me,” says Adrian. A strand of stray brown hair falls over his forehead, and he reaches up to brush it out of the way.

There is no hint of hurt or confusion in his little brother’s voice, but there’s an edge of accusation to it that makes Dan take just a little while longer to pull his eyes away from the computer screen to look at him.

He’s standing in the doorway, calm and orderly as ever. Their parents always commend him for it, so it’s something Dan never forgets, and it’s hard not to notice now, when he’s getting reprimanded by an eleven-year-old for sneaking off with other high school kids to get tabled at a rich kid’s house.

“Yeah…” he says, slightly uncertain, though his gaze never waivers. Adrian still has a chance to tell his grandma or parents (on the phone, in that case) about his rowdy, rebellious brother. 

But his brother is always a smart and sensible kid. A lot of common sense sits ingrained in his brain, which Dan is not so proud to admit he sometimes lacks. He gives Dan a curt nod and something of an affirmation that he’ll not tell on him, and then he leaves him alone again. Of course he leaves the door open just to bug him, but Dan doesn’t really give that much of a damn about it.

He is going out to have fun, without distractions or hiccups, after all.

After another half an hour of waiting, and dark nowhere near as the sun is still above the horizon, Dan has had enough of wasting his sight on the pixels and blue light. He has yet to pick out an item of clothing and he really does want to look extra good tonight.

He sifts through the pile of dark (mostly black) clothes and leather items, some lace and prints occasionally popping up.

And then he sees it. 

It’s absolutely perfect. 

A lacing at both front and back, a low neckline almost falling off his shoulders, exposing his collarbones and making his neck look longer than it actually was… god does he look good! And he can’t say that often.

After Dan puts it on, he spins a couple of times while watching himself in the floor length mirror. It exposes strips of skin both on his front and back, and the fabric is smooth and light on him, being slightly translucent. And for a moment he isn’t sure what will even go with it, no matter how pretty it looks.

He goes back to the open closet, rummages through a pile of pants and finds nothing that looks presentable. For a moment he feels like he should just give up and go to Anthony’s party with his usual attire.

Until his hand brushes along his one pair of smooth leather shorts. Really, really short shorts.

Dan knows these pants, and he knows they look good, with shiny studs down the sides, matt fabric all but on the butt, where the shine is exceptional. He knows they look good with his piercings: nose, ears and the new one he got on his tongue just a day ago. He is glad that school was out so he could get it.

Especially good with fishnet tights, he learned once when he stole his mother’s as a younger teen. He can certainly do that again now when  _ they _ are going to be gone for the rest of the week. 

Rubbing his hands gently across the surface as he pulls it out of the pile, he admires for a moment how the shine stayed even when having been chucked away in a scruffy pile at the back of his dresser. 

Then he sneaks off down the hall to his parents’ walk-in closet, the first door on the left after the stairs, with three other doors on the right side.

It doesn’t take Dan too long to find the tights. A black box without a lid sits on a shelf at his eye level, all the way at the back of the decently sized closet. The odors from all corners and items in the room are musky (a bad kind of musky) and rather restricting, stinging his nose, so he quickly gets himself out of there. 

Once Dan gets the clothes assembled on himself he admires himself in the mirror.

The way the shorts and shirt hug his body makes him feel unusually confident, and rather snug. His tan has gone down significantly since the summer months fled, but a loss of sunlight doesn’t banish it completely. There is now a light golden glow draping his body which matches surprisingly well with the brown undertones of the black garments.

He takes a snapshot of himself in the mirror, and posts it alongside his shirtless and halfnaked pictures on his social medias. He isn’t ashamed to say he likes the attention they get. It makes him feel better about himself, and nobody can tell him off for that. There’s also a wish lurking in his mind that Lester might see them and like them, and like him, but of course that has to be only wishful thinking, right? 

A small voice in his head also tells him an  _ angered _ Lester won’t hesitate to pull the lacing using his pretty, pale, big hands. And a  _ calm _ one could; he is strong enough to pull the whole shirt  _ and _ the shorts apart without much force, being stronger than Dan, surprisingly.

It makes him blush furiously to think about Lester doing such things to him. Even more so when thinking of what would happen afterwards if he did.

**_Lester’s hot and charming and beautiful no matter what mood he’s in... Even if it’s usually anger and snark around me..._ **

He tries his best to push it all to the very edges of his mind. It’s like a silver fog clouding his judgement, clouds and waves surrounding him and suffocating every last bit of self control he has left when it comes to keeping himself tough and proper around his rival. 

Not like they can ever be together, it’s just wishful thinking. Rivals never work out. Him and Lester will never work out.

The sweet and homely smell of baked goods snakes itself up the stairs, tickling Dan’s nose, distracting him for once. It’s the first real sign that his grandma is in the house, and he knows she probably won’t appreciating him walking out in the cold in these clothes, so he wraps a (three sizes too small) winter coat around himself and pulls on a pair of (what really should now be his brother’s) sweatpants. 

They came out of the very back of his closet and really do not match his aesthetic for the night. He can discard them later when he passes by Louise’s house to get a ride.

Dan doesn’t have his own car, and his parents certainly will never let him borrow the old van, not after he crashed its replacement in the summer. 

_ RIP freedom,  _ he had thought as he had been grounded in his room for three weeks, and then found the old van out of his reach whenever he had to go anywhere. Thankfully Louise can always drive him to occasions like these. She lives close by and had got a fancy car from her dad in the middle of the term.

As he goes down the stairs carefully, to not trip on the steps which always were too narrow for his big feet, his grandma comes running. Or more like shuffling, from the sound and her old age. She smiles up at her eldest grandson and he smiles back, genuinely. 

“I heard from a little birdy my Daniel boy is going out!” 

He nods. She stretches a comforting hand out to help him down, seeing him struggle and decides upon not giving him any travesty. 

Dan has always known his grandma’s eyes tell you everything you need to know and just a smidge more. Now her brown eyes are not brimmed with worry, but a shimmer of understanding floats within her iris like a speck of dust in the breeze. She certainly senses that he is studying her face, and a small smirk stretches her lips. The speck of dust transforms into a shield of protection. 

Pressing her pale and wrinkly forehead to his smooth and tan, she hums: “Be safe out in the cold, little Bear...”

“I will, ‘ma.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

**_Gemstones, Philip. Gemstones, for god’s sake! Really? Idiot!_ **

Two days has he gone thinking about it. Two days and he is already off his feet. It is a dangerous game. 

Dan, Daniel, as Howell is called--because  _ of course _ he went and stalked his social medias--has not for one minute left his mind.

The pictures he has posted there dance around in his mind, a venom for his judgement and sense. He’s gorgeous, and he likes to show it, and surprisingly enough the only anger he feels at that is jealousy that other people get to see it too.

At one point Phil had even met up with Candice, on his brother’s command, just to talk out the final unsettling knots in their breakup. He did not once have time to compare how close in nature this was to both his breakups with Brook and Justine. The same problems and the same conditions and the same complaints.

And yet not once during their grim and on-edge conversation was his mind untouched by brown locks and pink lips and clothes as dark as a black hole.

Phil does feel really stupid now, if you can’t believe it by his strung lips and secluded walk, which appears even if he is among his friends heading towards Anthony’s  _ mansion. _ They are now just a block away and he has found nothing to settle his reeling brain. 

Daniel will be there. 

He desperately hopes  _ Howell  _ will not.

Thinking of his amber chocolate eyes as anything more than a simple tool for a sense of sight has been a grave mistake, and he is paying it. For months he has been able to keep his thoughts far away from Howell in any sense but rivalry and hatred. 

Well, maybe that is a bit of a lie. Occasionally Phil does find himself gazing for a bit too long at Daniel’s thighs or cheeks, and sometimes he does imagine himself cuddling up in his most prized leather jacket, like it is a prize he will ever have a chance to win.

It stings, it really does, but he knows hatred and rivalry surely can’t be anything you grow out of. That’s why he is sulking, as The Viper’s shouts and joyous screeches of glee echo around him as they drag themselves down the street.

Jenna is giving Sean a piggy back ride, and they have just gone sprinting off down the street with Julian (Jenna’s boyfriend, who isn’t a part of the gang) following them, when Tom looks in Phil’s direction for the first time during the night. 

His wide grin falls slightly. Phil’s grows painfully. It might be obvious he is trying to fake it. Frankly he doesn’t give a damn.

“Big boy, why are you sulking?” he inquires, and laughs while scuttling over to him. “We’re getting tabled at the greatest party in town! We can make connections, have fun, and poke at that Howell caricature! What’s there to sulk about!”

Phil refuses to look at him and doesn’t answer the ‘question’; instead he mumbles under his breath: “Exactly the sort of fun I didn’t want t’night...”

Tom doesn’t waiver by his silent sword and links their arms together. As they traverse through the night, finally in proper silence, a brightly lit silhouette of a house grows in the distance. The gravel crackles as they walk up the porch. Phil decides his best bet is to straighten his back, confidence is key, and to mask his stinging pain with a tough exterior.. At the same time Jenna presses down the doorbell and then moves a step down, letting Phil take a dominant stance on the top step.

The door swings inwards to reveal a surly girl with essentially translucent skin, straightened black hair, and a perfume so sweet and strong it makes even  _ your _ eyes water.

Phil’s attempt at a strong, smiley grimace falls into a stony caricature of his features. 

“Oh ‘ello Lester.. Anthony didn’t tell me you were coming tonight.”

“Everybody was coming tonight,  _ Brook _ .”

“Guess I should’ve expected it, then. Get inside.” 

She surveys them all carefully as they pass up the stairs and into the final destination for tonight. Phil tries his very best to not look at her.

**_How could this possibly get even worse, now..._ **

The whole place reeks of sweat, teenagers, alcohol, and another strange, gross waft, though he does not want to find out the source. A trashy techno beat pounds from the speakers, mixing with nonsensical shouts and screams, and the wet noises from the unrecognizable couple entangled in each other’s embrace on the shoe rack.

Phil unwillingly has his eyes search for any strokes of familiarity on their limbs, and when he finds none he passes them, following Brook with steady steps from the dim hall into the blazing, steaming dancehall.

The group comes to a swift halt at the pool table, which has been placed in the middle of the dance floor. Phil guesses it’s Morian’s stupid idea. He always has stupid ideas and Anthony never acknowledges it. To the left tall windows have been partially covered in black tape. Phil guesses that is also Morian’s idea.

Brook waves them off and goes back to the hallway, the crowd closing up between them when she’s left, even without the shrill doorbell or a knock summoning her. Phil feels a surge within him tell him he doesn’t even mind. In fact, it seems like his body and brain prefers this distance between them. Seeing how disgusted he feels every time she lays eyes on him. Better than nothing to not give her that chance.

Cheers suddenly bounce off the walls. Even the dancers join in as one of the people playing pool scores with a particularly skilled shot, having multiple balls roll into the holes. Though Phil supposes half of the people in the room are too drunk to understand why they’re happy. 

The player turns towards Phil, who is stood at the front of his wolf pack and therefore is the closest to her, and she smiles wildly at him. He tries to return the gesture but his grin only comes out as an unsure, toothy, open-mouthed grimace.

“Want to play?” she asks, handing the cue stick out to him. 

He declines with a shake of his head, and immediately it’s snatched from her hand by Sean, who’s appeared out of thin air with a confident smile playing on his lips and a tipsy, flirty aura radiating from his presence. A proper playboy.

“I’ll take that!” he says loudly to overpower the music, the stick already in his tight first. The girl’s head bobs like she’s only half listening but she still leaves a bit of space next to her so the short teen can move up. He does. “Lester right here is just a massive killjoy tonight! Don’t mind him!”

Sean waves his hand about carelessly and then attempts to slap his arm, but Phil’s already moved out of the way. He leaves both The Vipers and the girl and her opponent behind him. Their voices echo in the distance as he moves away, before they’re drowned out by the thumping music and stinging strobe lights.

“If I didn’t know him I’d say he’s a bit lovesick!”

As he traverses the dance floor, Phil weaves in and out of people waving their arms about and couples clambering on top of one another in what is probably the least efficient way of making out. At least in his opinion.

He does his best to focus on the beat, and not everyone else, nor Howell’s hair and lips, by doing his best to match his stepping to it. Considering he’s a bull in a china shop. He doesn’t respond to any muffled greetings nor offers of fistbumps and high fives he gets from (mostly) people with faces he can’t remember at all.

**_1, 2, 3, 4_ **

**_1, 2, 3, 4_ **

**_1, 2, 3, 4_ **

repeat

A couple has moved up onto the marble windowsill. Beneath them stands a whole group of detestable nerds who are surely the boy’s friends, essentially worshipping them with cheery shouts, grasping hands, and splashes of alcohol. He really does not like the sight. Outside of Howell and his Delinquents, Phil hates nerds the most.

Phil does not recognize the boy but the girl seems mildly familiar. She could be one of Sean’s exes or one of the more popular girls. Maybe she is one of the ones who’d often try to flirt with him. He doesn’t particularly care for it. Both with who the two are and the flirting.

Someone poking his shoulder snaps him out of his dazed distraction seeking.

“Lester yeh want a drink or what…” slurs Patricia. In her left hand she’s holding a half full vodka bottle and in her right a mug which would’ve been a container for some alcoholic beverage.

Would’ve as most of the content is sloshing out and onto her open-toed sneakers and making a sticky, glistening puddle on the floor. Phil grimaces when he thinks of the effort Anthony will have to make to get the house spick and span. He points this out to Patricia as he steadies her, but she just shrugs.

“I’ss okay, I’ll make it up to ‘im… ‘ave yeh seen Cat?” 

He simply shakes his head. His lips are dry and words come hard to him.

“Shame…”

Then she yawns and beckons him inside where she just came from, immediately taking another sip from the bottle. The vodka is having  _ some  _ effect on her, and some effect it is. He points that out, too, as they enter the dark kitchen and walk up to the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen, which has become a makeshift bartender stand.

Along the brim of the bar runs a line of light blue glowing sticks which have been crappily taped on to simulate a neon rim. It looks unsurprisingly tacky yet works in the dim and darkness.

Red and sparkly, the dress of the ‘bartender’ shines even in the faint light. She is mixing together a radioactive martini styled drink for her girlfriend, (judging by the fact that they are acting coupley as well as giving each other pecks on the cheek every few seconds) and he recognise the both of them as part of Anthony’s little non-jock clique. Just like Morian.

Both him and Patricia lean against the bar, and silence floats above their consciousness for a few seconds. 

“So how you and Howell doin’, ey…” 

“Sorry, what?” he asks, and immediately takes the bottle from Patricia’s hand as a precaution.

**_Why would she think anything-_ **

“Thought yeh liked him, little Philly…” she says, giving him a boop on the nose with her now free hand. “Or did little birdie lie?”

**_Little birdie… who could that be?_** he thinks, and the confusion is then replaced by annoyance rather quickly.

“I don’t-”

Phil gets cut off by humming coming from one of the other girls by the bar. He has no time to wonder if it was martini-girlfriend or the bartender, for they’re all turning around and quieting down. The music hasn’t died down one bit but there’s a buzz and a mutual silence from the crowd just outside the door. 

As Phil too turns around to look, he gets a metaphorical splash of ice cold water right in his face. He has to blink.

“Speak of the devil, Pat,” says a voice Phil doesn’t recognise.

**_More like hot like the devil??_ **

He can barely believe his eyes. That most definitely is Howell strutting across the dance floor towards them in the kitchen, and since they’re in plain view of the door it’s a wonder that he has yet to notice them.

There’s a sparkle in  _ Daniel’s  _ eye that certainly catches Phil’s. But as if he didn’t usually look pretty and hot and beautiful… he looks appetizing tonight. The black lacing exposes smooth, and slightly freckle speckled, tan skin and Phil has never seen such a perfect combination of neck and collarbone.

And he is  _ actually _ wearing fishnet tights with shorts.

He wants to admire the way the clothes hug him and accentuate his features, as well as rip it all off him, and see and run his hands all over what he has only seen as pixels on his screens. 

Phil can feel his whole existence crumble around him. His legs feel like jelly and his brain is melting at the sight of Howell’s flaming hot figure. 

He doesn’t notice he’s been furiously fiddling with his hair nor that his lip is  _ bleeding  _ from his teeth until Patricia smirks up at him lousily and points it out. Like he did with the drink before. Both of the points makes him blush furiously.

Just then, Howell enters the room. In the distance you can see The Vipers watching the Delinquents who haven’t scattered with a careful eye. And then there’s Phil blinking furiously, not even  _ trying _ to collect himself.

The world seems to stop long before the tide of the party gets a chance to get back into motion. Something or someone, indistinguishable in the dark, crashes into Howell just as he enters the kitchen. He stumbles forwards and his feet snags on a tile, sending him flying. 

Directly into Phil’s arms. 

Ear-splitting, percussive, and piercing, the shrill noise echoes as icy stone collides with Phil’s body. In the whirlwind of the moment his eyelids have fallen shut, but the darkness swirling in his sight doesn’t help him one bit.

Dan’s groaning and huffing right next to his ear, and it sends chills down his spine.

What’s worse is probably the soft flesh he feels underneath his palms. There is no way for him to distinguish what it could possibly be but he does have a brooding feeling it won’t lead to anything good. His eyes shoot open as soon as Howell splutters, his silky voice ready to spit venom. His warm saliva flies everywhere, even onto Phil’s face and into his mouth. 

“Get your filthy hands off my  _ ass,  _ Lester!”

“Ooh, so if it  _ wasn’t  _ your  _ ass,  _ my hands could stay on you, now could they, Howell!” snarls Phil, but he complies despite his instincts to keep on cupping. He isn’t a creep, even if he is mean. Howell bares his teeth and snarls right back at him.

“Ah yes, as if you get suitors every hour wanting you to put your filthy plump lips on them!”

“And you think you’d get any more offers wearing  _ lacing _ ! Bet fifty people crawled at your feet the moment you wa-”

“Can’t pretend you weren’t staring, then, now can you, Lester! Like what you see?” Howell smirks  _ sarcastically  _ (which hurts Phil’s heart a little bit), his already silky voice now dropping, and sweet running honey. He runs a hand nonchalantly and delicately across his collarbones as he speaks, leaning his head backwards to provoke Phil, or  _ whatever  _ his intention was _. _

Rather the opposite effect is set into motion: Phil feels another electric current run up his previously hurt spine, and a fluttering accompanied by a hunger boils deep in his tummy at the sight. Dan truly is a beauty and this is no exception.

A rumbling unsettles his mind but doesn’t deter him. Despite the fact that Howell is joking, Phil can’t bear to think it is true. And that such a reality is too far out of his reach, despite the embodiment being just a couple of centimeters away from him, judging from the sarcastic tone in Howell’s voice. Phil lets his voice snake out the bare minimum of vowels and consonants possible as every fiber of his existence is melting and mushy. It comes out as a breathy whisper on his lips, directed at Howell.

“Fuck off…”

“Gladly!” he says, and as he sticks his tongue out to blow a raspberry, a glimmer immediately draws Phil’s eyes to it. He becomes a moth and he can physically feel his eyes widen at the sight of the piercing.

**_That’s honestly… hot as fu- no waitwhatareyou thinking of kissing him?! You can’t, Philip!_ **

If Howell or anyone else in the room say anything after that, it becomes lost long before it reaches Phil’s ears.

It isn’t until Cat nudges him that his view comes back into focus. Howell is strutting away, his tongue piercing long gone, under the silent and apprehensive gazes of their fellow partygoers. Somebody has turned down the music, so the beat is now a soft echo between the gasps and whispers.

Phil then also realises droplets of saliva are escaping his lips, and he desperately tries to lap them up as he sucks in a breath for what felt like the first time in forever. The gazes now switch over to him, steely and accusing some were, and Phil feels himself heat up even more under them. 

He can’t believe himself. 

At first he was floored by Dan’s appearance, then he was quite literally floored, then he groped him (on accident but it is just as bad when it is your gang leader rival), and now he is gulping up his own saliva like a dog. At the sight of his worst rival, and his ass and thighs. Phil knows this will be the talk of the town for a long time, and that doesn’t bode him any good. 

He eyes the crowd in search for The Vipers. All the eyes begin to feel pressing and uncomfortable. He needs to get out of there, and quick.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Dan twirls a lock of hair between his fingers. It’s soft on his skin as he recently showered, and alongside the serene feeling, his new shampoo makes everything he touches smell musky and thick. More than usual. It fills the empty house with a sense of purpose. One he is longing for.

The clock above the door says it is half past two but he doesn’t want to believe it. When he disclosed his parents and brother would be gone once again, Cat said she’d be at his house at 2 o'clock sharp.

Cat is never late.

Winter break rolling around had been a great relief, and still is. He had tried his best to stay away from Lester and The Vipers as best as he could, only getting into one confrontation and one fight for the whole rest of the term (two weeks it was, granted, but considering that first number was usually at least four times a day and that second one… three times a week…).

A clack echoing from the entrance pulls him out of his thoughts. Dan rises from the laminated staircase where he sat on the third step, staring into empty space. By the time he pulls the door open a sour expression, as if she’d eaten lemon, has cemented itself on Cat’s face. She pouts and then immediately begins prodding him with a finger on his chest and lots of questions seeping from her head.

After hanging her cloak up on the hanger, Dan goes into the kitchen. She’s already made herself at home, even though they rarely hang out here, on the closest bar stool. Which if he really thinks about it is probably the most expensive investment in the whole house.

At first conversation is slow. Painfully so. 

Dan has, on top of trying to keep out of Lester’s way as often as possible, essentially ignored all of the friends he has who are not constantly around him because they are in the gang. 

Making a joke about about spinning tops, Dan’s and Cat’s laughter rumble from their stomachs, and the shrill echo synch them up in a comfortable way. It sets the mood for the next couple of minutes, and they can finally discuss what was really on their minds, fun and not.

Jumping from one topic to another, they inevitably land on the one Dan is the most afraid to approach.

This time Cat does tip toe in the beginning, but when he makes no effort to distract from it, she goes on a bit more harshly. Not minding the fact that his spinning head and reeling thoughts and sweaty palms and pounding ears are the real reasons he isn’t detering her. In every corner of his mind images of Lester from the party swirl around, the comments they made, the implications, the rumors afterwards, and his soft, plump lips alongside raven hair and blue eyes. His hands on his ass. And that smell.

He’d smelled so nice, a certain tingly floral smell, and it is enough to make Dan’s knees weak even so long after it happened. At least he isn’t so gross that he didn’t wash the clothes afterwards, but he was damn well near enough. He found other ways, however, to cement it in his mind. 

Only when she asks him for a soda does he snap out of it, though just long enough to walk uninterrupted from the counter to the fridge. Her babbling continues.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it. You’re afraid,” she says. “If I was you I wouldn’t worry needlessly; he clearly likes you.”

**_How the hell would she know that?_ ** he thinks, and then his mind goes blank.

Dan lets his hand still with the tips of his fingers barely grazing the bottle. After an eternity of having his breath caught in his throat he lets it surge, and then lets his arms fall flat to his sides once more. With a wild gaze he spins towards Cat, arms flying above his head.

“But we’re rivals! I can’t fraternise with the enemy, can I!?” he shouts, desperation in his voice. “What will the gang say!? I’ll lose it all even if he likes me!” With a deafening sigh he turns back towards the open fridge.

Cat audibly smacks her lips. She waits until he continues with his task of getting a drink, and as he begins to untwist the bottle’s shiny cap with it resting on the table, she speaks; “How long have you liked him for?”

“Maybe two years. Almost since I started here.”

“You’re- ok no, you’re not… but, like, if you don’t ask him out now you’ll lose him.”

“You don’t think I know that!?” he sputters, twisting the bottle with exceeding force but without success. “Every time he gets a new girlfriend I become painfully aware of it, and it settles a bit more in my gut that I can never have him. It’s like an open wound, and jealousy sticking its knife in and twisting it around.” He mimics the motion of twisting a knife around. 

Along with the edge in his voice he shakes the glass container this time, watching the bubbles swirl. Then he sets it back down and grunts as he screws with all his might. Cat watches him carefully. 

“So that’s why you punched him in the gut Junior year,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You saw him kissing that Brook chick and got jealous.”

The cap finally snaps off with a loud  _ plop _ . The fizzy bubbles overflow and soon the whole surface of the table is covered in sticky soda; Dan doesn’t make the effort to pick up a rag and clean it up. At the same time Cat eyes him for a couple more seconds in their thick silence but then breaks it with a razor-sharp tone.

“Essentially you got mad over the miniscule thing keeping you apart, and in turn created the only but also the most detrimental thing which has been keeping you apart for over a year, and still is.”

Dan releases the bite he has had on his tongue. “Yeah I suppose that’s exactly-”

“I’ll need you to fix this mess.” 

He freezes. His head is pounding but his brain feels like it just went icy cold and his limbs tense. “Sorry, w-”

“I need you to put aside the fake facade of hatred and-”

“No _ nono _ ! You’re not asking-”

“Yes, you will ask him out.” She sighs, letting her palm rest on her forehead. “And I will help you. No matter what it’ll do to the territories and the gangs.” 

She swings her legs off the stool and struts towards the door, while continuing; “You two can’t keep on going like this. It destroys the both of you. I’ll see you back at school after break is over. You better have gotten your shit together by then.”

With one last wave over her shoulder, she is gone. Dan glares at the popping bubbles on the wood, not bothering to say goodbye. 

They look and sound as defeated as he feels, and he plops his butt down on the empty stool while still glaring away. He sits there for a quiet endlessness, and then he has had enough and finally reaches for the rag to mop up the mess. He quietly supposes he’ll have to mop up the mess he’s made of his life too. And then he gets to scrubbing without pondering any longer.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dandelion fuzz falls from the darkened morning sky, speckling the view outside the car window with millions of tiny, tiny stars. As Phil drives down the road towards school with dread in his stomach, he’s thankful the warm air from the engine melts the crystals before they land on his windshield, let alone cloud his vision. Or he’d be in a ditch right now.

He glances down at the bear tattoo on his arm. It gives him heartfelt condolences.

His wheels roll on the slippery road like December and Christmas had rolled around and left.

It is strange, Dan is strange, the whole world seems to be falling into a dark hole of strangeness.

At first it had seemed just a bit odd that Howell was avoiding him, and then it dawned on him that it was probably something from the party. Most definitely something Phil had said, and right now he curses himself for it.

January is always the least eventful month of the year, except for his birthday, but Phil realises it could be the most uneventful one in his life the moment he steps inside the school. The halls seem more monochrome and duller than ever, there are only hesitating, tired whispers from the students, not even smalltalk, and his lousy footsteps are the loudest sensory expression in the area.

That is all true, until he slams his locker open.

Bright pink, the post-it stares up at him, and the squiggly writing births butterflies in his stomach. His breath had quipped at the sight, and now he lets out a lovestruck sigh.

As his shaky fingers pick up the note, a nagging voice mocks his wishful thinking that this is Daniel’s work. He ignores it.

_ Watching the gaze of your bright blue, windy eyes _

_ A deep ocean dive into your voice _

_ All walking the path to heaven on starry night skies _

_ To your charming mind I do rejoice _

_ I wouldn’t want to trade these brilliant butterflies _

_ Everything but loving u is a choice _

_ Yet it is the most beautiful in this burning sunrise _

_ The one who in you finds their joys _

<3 <3 <3

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Dan’s palms feel slippery on his jeans. Sweat forms into drops and roll down along the crinkles and lines on his fingers. Then they splash on the ground in a serene fashion, clear splatters shattering beautifully on the hard, rough earth, which also digs into his forehead as he is keeled forwards over himself.

**_Whywhywhy did I do it?_ ** repeats endlessly in his mind.

He has been hiding in a thorn bush in the very back corner of the school grounds for what feels like days now, but probably has only been half of second period. His quickened heartbeat and erratic breathing distorts his construed perception of time.

**_Lester probably still despises me, he hates my stupid looks and he hates my stupid post-it notes and stupid scribbled hearts and my stupidstupidstupid idiotic behaviour and disastrous attempts to woo his heart!_ **

A single warm tear escapes its duct and rolls down his cheek. Dan closes his eyes to stop the burning, but it only makes it worse, like a heating volcano being trapped within itself. He hears the droplet break on the ground, shattering along with all his hopes and dreams.

An image of himself giving Lester’s pretty and plump  _ smiling _ lips a delicate and loving peck over a box of popcorn in a darkened cinema pulls itself forcefully into his head, and that’s when the watery salt tears really start to roll, like a waterfall cascading down his cheeks.

**_My disgusting sobbing can probably be heard all across the yard_ ** , he thinks, yet for once Dan isn’t scared what people will think if they saw him crying.

He doesn’t care enough for it. He doesn’t care at all, frankly.

**_Damn the world and all that lives in it… Damn me, especially._ **

The plan is usually flawless. Dan had done it every other time he planted a note, making space before school on Mondays and Thursdays, and before second period the rest of the week. Maybe the meticulous scheduling is what ruined him; what gave him away.

This Tuesday everything had gone wrong because of Lester’s own presence. When all the other students filed into class Dan hung back and immediately went through the school when he was sure the coast was clear. Except this time he wasn’t the only one who hung back…

It seemed Lester never left his locker for class, this time. When he spotted him Dan decided to just keep walking, footsteps pounding in his ears, ignoring his rival and keeping his head down. His face was burning the whole time. With a few steady, unwavered, steps he made it around the corner unscathed, and then the adrenaline made him sprint through the empty halls for the exit. All the while his heart sank lower and lower, the lump in his throat just growing, and a dread that Lester was following continuously chipping at his heels.

And now he is alone, though the fact that his locker of interest is closely guarded shatters his heart as well as makes him feel like a meat cleaver just chopped him in two along the length of his spine.

He isn’t worth Lester’s love, clearly. 

He isn’t worth enough to admire him.

**_It had been a fruitless mission, regardless, hadn’t it!_ ** Lester only ever smiled (faintly) twice when he found the notes, if he even acknowledged them at all. And he is truly known for his snark and intelligence, so Dan won’t put it past him to have known the perpetrator all along and that he was just mocking his rival those times.

Dan’s whole body shakes even more violently with each one of the disheveled sobs.

Yet he doesn’t move, and he isn’t planning to. 

He can’t face Lester, not yet, not with such heartbreak. He’s not sure he’ll ever be okay with it, after this.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The confusion and hurt never seems to settle.

Dan really is avoiding him, meaning Phil can never really gaze into his pretty brown eyes unless he stalks his social medias, which he really wants to stop because it is unhealthy behaviour. Also, he feels guilty over staring at his naked body for hours on end. 

And now, whoever his secret admirer is, have stopped placing adorable and sweet handwritten notes in his locker, which used to make him feel better about his situation. Not even for valentines day did he recieve one, which was a couple of days ago.

His mind is in as much chaos as his body twists and turns during nightmares.

The first poem was utterly refreshing and adorable. Still he had been in disbelief, and now it turned out he took it all for granted.

The second note had a small flower accompanying it, blossoming blue, and as described, a blue like his clear eyes. At that his heart had swelled.

Many others came after them, one almost every day, but no more often than that. In total there were maybe close to 40, all original little scribbles of affection and affirmation and appreciation. Each and every single one is stored carefully at the back of his shelves, hidden only by movie cases. Where he can take them out to look at during stormy, rainy, sad days.

Seems like the collection won’t grow now, and it is something he thinks more about than this utterly ridiculous geography project.

What he thinks even more about, however, is the back turned on him, in this eastern-facing classroom. With the morning sun hot on his face it is hard to not remember that one note he got about how pretty his eyes and silhouette look in it, and simultaneously worry about how stoic and evasive Howell is, out of the light. Especially the Daniel he’d like to meet.

Phil glances towards the brown mess of curls, and watches as the sun rises higher still, tainting them golden and bronze, like a bear in a gleaming forest. He imagines his own fingers running through the hair, and he can feel them tingle at the thought. A faint voice in his head tells him placing a kiss on his scalp would be rather adorable, and so he imagines that too. He can’t help the swelling of his heart and the way his face splits in a warm grin.

He thinks of the kiss again, this time to the dimple clad cheek he can’t see right now. The warm light in his chest flames up again, and he can’t help the wordless giggle which very nearly rips itself from his tingling lips.

Then Phil imagines himself giving Daniel all sorts of kisses and pecks all over his body, perking his own lips as subtly as possible at the thought to relieve the way they tickle, and imagines himself telling him how beautiful he is, whispering it wetly and breathily against his tan skin. He imagines all of the shirtless, nearly naked pictures he’s seen all over Dan’s socials. Now the warmth has turned into a blossoming forest fire, burning all in its wake. He doesn’t mind.

Well, until Jenna turns towards him, her eyebrows raised. Even though her voice is empty, he can feel the stinging words dancing in the air between them, and he turns away from the turned back with a flushing face and a lump in his throat. 

No way he could have that. No way Howell would ever let him do those things to him. Instead the warm feelings are mostly replaced by sorrow at the notes. It’ll be a long day, and all he’ll do is wallow in his two miseries. 

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

It is only the end of February and PJ has gotten himself into a pretty bad fight with The Vipers and now Dan is sitting, scowling and cross, outside the principal’s office waiting for the two of them (and Lester too, unfortunately) to stop talking and get on with the day.

Usually he isn’t bothered by the wait, but the itching in his bones tells him it is more than fear that awaits in his shattered heart, ready to be released at the sight of  _ him. _

The barren walls press in on him, their off-white and peeling layers of paint imposing on him from all angles. The metal bench he sits on is more than just a bit uncomfortable, and Dan can’t stand the thoughts barreling through his mind, almost bringing him to tears.

Lester kissing girls, Lester laughing shrill laughs at Dan and his idiocy, Lester mocking his desires with him in front of the whole school, Lester teasing him with gestures and then chewing him out which brings the imaginary him to tears, and that gets mocked too. Lester tearing apart the post-it notes and flowers, like he probably already has.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of loud footsteps. Not a second later the windowless door flies open, making him jump from his seat.

Out steps the tall raven-haired boy with his polished leather jacket now grimy and bloodied and tied around his waist. Lester’s tattoos glare Dan down, as they clothe the toned muscles running up and down his skinny arms, exposed because of his rolled up t-shirt sleeves. A painful thunderstorm of feelings tugs at his heartstrings, crackles setting off as Lester pouts his lips out at him, before smirking his very best.

It has always done something to him, that smile, but right now it is painful for him to see such a gorgeous sight. He tries to avert his eyes, but it is too late. Lester is now standing, straight back and grinning, not an inch too close to him.

After a long silence, he finally breaks it. The tension seems to be too much for the both of them, after all. “What yeh doing out here,  _ Howell _ ?”

With a little courage and a grain of salty faith Dan lets his gaze carry up to meet his pretty blue irises. “Nothing much but waiting courteously for my delinquent who was brave enough to fight you on your own!”

“Don’t get overly confident, now now!” Lester laughs. “That vermin got himself a good beating, but I’m not surprised as he has been taught by such a useless rat like you.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re much better, with your guns out and everything, Lester.”

“Like ‘em?”

The comment combined with Lester flexing his arms at him (with a smirk, mind you) catches him off guard. It seems more like flirting than a snarky comment, and despite his prayers he feels himself flushing at the thought of it being intentional. Anger (though milder than usual) swelters and burns in his gut, for such a gesture must mean he’s mocking Dan. “Not one bit,  _ Lester _ !”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe go fuck  _ off _ so I can tend to my business here instead of engaging in your useless banter-”

“Oh yeah, I forgot nice pretty boy here had no time for rivalry and trouble!” Lester mocks, grimacing at him.

Dan pushes his arms off Lester’s chest in desperation, effectively moving himself two feet backwards. He tries not to think about how tight the shirt feels against his pecs: the way it hugs them. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“Oh well, go fuck  _ your _ self.”

“Shut your filthy mouth, Lester!” Dan shouts, annoyed at being copied, and as Lester snorts at his comment, he also feels a sharp pain run the length of his leg from his toes. He winces audibly.

“ _ Rat _ , like getting your feet trampled, huh,” he says, and then withdraws his foot with a smirk.

“Not by you, you’re not pretty enough for that!”

“Think I’m not pretty  _ enough _ ? Oh I’ve got plenty of admirers who’d say I’m the prettiest,  _ Howell _ ! People flirt with me all the time.”

“Pfft! I don’t see why  _ anyone _ would want to put romantic  _ notes _ in yo-” Dan begins, and then feels absolute terror grip him. His breath hitches and suffocation seems to settle its deadly grip in his windpipe. Phil’s pretty eyes widen in surprise and graze his features, with confusion dancing within.

He spins faster than the world can. Tears finally well in his eyes as he rushes down the corridor, the surroundings an empty blur of fading colour and minimal shape.

Lester might’ve shouted something after him, but he can’t care. It is suddenly something he doesn’t have time for. His feet move on their own accord, out towards freedom and release, and he feels another surge of horrible pain well up within him.

His footsteps echo as his shoes hit the tiles, carrying him away from real emotions and heartbreak. He passes barely anyone on the way, at least who he’d have noticed, but it is not like his brain cares at all about that.

He runs and he runs, not a care in the world. He reaches the doors, a blockade to the outside, and passes through with anger seething alongside the frustration in his bones.

Then someone does shout something after him, and the voice is not deep and crispy in that beautiful way only Lester’s could be.

Swiveling on the spot, Dan is met with a faint and blurry Cat, due to the blood pounding in is ears and the tears building in his eyes.

Something crimson streams down her face, indistinguishable as all her other features. Her eye is purple, that is all he can tell. And she’s panting. “Y’know I knocked that Viper chick out!” she laughs, bringing up a hand to give him a bump. 

He cowers, and her tone changes in a flash. “Is everythib alright, Dan?” 

He’s already a hundred steps down the block before he’s able to think of an answer. Dan knows she won’t follow him when she’s hurt, but at the same time her mouth could babble even if she was in a coma. No doubt all the students know about his endeavour by now! No doubt even  _ Lester  _ told some boasting story about making him cry! 

**_Showoff!_ ** he thinks, and wipes the watery snot off his cupid’s bow before it’s able to run into his mouth.  **_He’s out there being great at everything, and here you are, crying like a toddler over not being able to kiss him! Pathetic!_ **

Despite how gross he feels, the tears don’t stop until he’s home and crashed in his bed, asleep, and therefore very, very alone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Phil ignores his brother’s shouts behind him as he runs out the door, down the street with his hair swirling around his head. Desperation pounds in his chest. 

Martyn found the notes. He also said some things Phil can’t comprehend.

His feet are hurting, and exhaustion mixed like a deadly cocktail with confusion boils within him. And yet he doesn’t come to a halt until he reaches the school’s crowded morning halls. But not because of any of those reasons. Not because of the emotions sparking within him.

But because Louise slams his locker shut in that second.

A couple of students jump as he shouts: “Lou?” 

Except it couldn’t be her. No, the latest letter clearly implied his secret admirer is (or was) a guy, and the two of them don’t even have any of their shared morning lessons in a classroom facing-

Louise twirls and waves. “Hi! Just getting my pencil back from yeh, Philly boy,” she says, and raises her hand to show that she is indeed holding the pencil he borrowed from her a couple of days ago. “Forgot my case at home, you see.”

Phil lets out a sigh of relief, loaded with emotions he can’t and probably will never get a chance to explain, even to himself.

Then she says something he’s sure to never forget.

“Though what you’re looking for might be in there.  _ Cute _ .”

The note is a lot less poetic and dreamy this time around. It just seems sad and overtly depressing.

_ Sorry for the silence _

_ Sorry for the love _

_ These feelings I am fighting _

_ These feelings I shove _

_ Pink lips and crystal eyes _

_ Beautiful so _

_ Seems you don’t like guys _

_ guys like me, oh no _

_ I’ll not bother you, Lester, anymore _

The malicious whispers stop, to be replaced by gasps and a pounding etching silence. This time the post-it is a deep blue, tear stained and with blotches of free-flowing ink, and the writing in white, old ink. His breath is gone and wetness wells in his eyes. 

Shaking hands, Phil turns over the note, and sees not a drawing like some of the others had, but a rather chapped scribble spelling out something belittling about the writer.

The long corridor, grey tiles and white painted walls, echo with silence. He slams the red metal locker shut, dropping the note in the process, and watches the gust of wind carry it across the floor. 

It stops right in front of a familiar pair of feet.

His head reels and his breath quips for a brief second.

Phil can see Howell’s hands shake as he bends down to pick up the  _ feeble _ piece of paper. The whole world seems to be holding its breath, and then their eyes meet as he rises again.

Howell is a deer in headlights and terror seems to grip them both on the spot. He opens his mouth to mouth him off, chew him out, or anything of the sort, but the way his bear’s chocolate eyes widen and his expression turns solemn tugs at his heart.

Then realisation rams into him, a train at full speed, and he’s on the track in its path.

**_‘Lester.’_ **

**_‘East facing.’_ **

**_‘Your mouth shouts only bad and vile and snark to me but I love you and want to kiss it all the same.’_ **

**_‘My curls and your big hands.’_ **

**_He wrote all of those. Howell wrote all of those._ **

**_Howell is my secret admirer._ **

**_Daniel is my-_ **

Phil feels a surge of emotion well up within him. And then he starts walking, involuntarily, but completely agreeing with the wild plan made up by his mind.

Around them students of all ages pile up. They surely must think this’ll be the confrontation of the century between the two rivals. Daniel stands at the cross section between the two long corridors which meet like a T, the main line of which Phil is walking down with purpose, and the space around them is filled with almost every inch of the student body. 

He’s still clutching the note in his hand. 

The path before Phil is clear as he walks towards him, however, and he’s glad nothing stands between the two of them. 

Soon he’s so close all in his sights as well as his mind is filled with him.

The spectators gasp and widen their eyes as he moves even closer, still, and the heat of Dan’s body moves within his own radius. They’re less than a foot apart.

The whole hall around him, despite the brightness and the watching eyes, ceases to exist as their bodies come closer and more intimate than he’s ever been able to make them intentionally, outside of his wildest dreams.

Fear whines and swirls in the dark depths of Dan’s pupils. Phil does not let that deter him, and as he moves even closer the world seems to zone in on only a single mole in the corner of his eye. He smells musky and ethereal, a certain warmth radiating from him just as tender as his breath which now mingles with Phil’s own. 

The intruding eyes do not deter him either, and he imagines the two of them are standing all alone in a darkened room. Phil moves even  _ closer _ , the very tips of their noses grazing each other. Dan’s skin is soft and smooth, and he smells even more heavenly up close. Phil can’t stop himself from breathing it in audibly, and he feels and sees Dan shudder in front of him as he does. Now their breaths aren’t just as hot, but each breath is one taken from the grasp of the other’s lips. It must be destiny, for Howell’s movements seem to soften, and he still stands his ground.

“Go ahead,” Howell, or rather Dan, whispers into his mouth, the fear long gone from his chocolate eyes, and he lets his eyelids flutter shut to hide them. Hot. “Kiss me.”

Silence encases them once more. Phil closes his eyes to brace and takes the final step and leans in, their hearts beating in unison. Seizing Dan’s lips with his own, he gets the first taste of freedom and real love with him. It is tender; it is everything. 

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

The kiss is soft and almost pulsating, filled with warmth and such gracefully transferred affection that Dan thinks his heart will stop beating any second. For the first seconds all he feels is his own blood rushing through his head, and Lester’s pulse spiking and pounding in  _ Dan’s _ ears. Then he returns the gesture and moves his mouth rhythmically to match, and it is like two perfect puzzle pieces slot together for the first time.

Darkness swirls beneath his eyelids and it is as if they have been sucked into a giant void, but with millions of warm stars dancing across their skin. 

Goosebumps grow across his arms and tickle him.

He lets his mouth stay and suck on just Lester’s bottom lip for a moment, the cold metal of his snakebites especially, and it’s mixing with their warm breaths and his saliva. A gentle moan escapes out of Lester’s slack mouth at the movement, which makes tingles run up and down his own spine. 

**_I did that to him!_ ** he thinks, and his head pounds with emotion.

At some point Lester must’ve moved his hand up, for a gentle touch caresses the back of his neck and moves him further into the kiss. A light bursts in Dan’s chest at the affection and urges him to press himself up against the other body, encouraging the embrace.

Somehow Lester mumbles something muffled in the middle of their lips; his warm tongue tries to slot itself right in. In the moment he knows it won’t go well, with his tongue-piercing. 

Dan spits it back out, but when Lester almost seems to think it is a rejection and begins to move away, he tightens the movement his lips move with and keeps him there. That softens the spiking stiffness which he noticed had appeared in his limbs, and soon they are back in a continuous, soft kiss. Dan appreciates the concern and decides as best as his squashed brain can muster to remember to thank him later for his valuing of consent.

Knees weak, Dan can’t keep himself upright any longer, and lets his arms grasp around the wide shoulders of his counterpart. Though he is very slightly taller than Lester his body is a bit less broad around the collarbones. He doesn’t mind that in this moment- he has always fantasized about hugging Lester around his shoulders and neck, more so than holding his waist.

They stand there for an eternity, bodies pressed together. It isn’t by a long shot his first kiss, but it is the longest one. And it is perfect.

If he can put it into words, it is the physical embodiment of a slow, romantic, love song.

When they eventually break apart Dan doesn’t bother in breaking the silence around them. Instead he lets himself swim in Phil’s gorgeous eyes, very aware of his face melting in a fond expression, one that perfectly enough matches Phil’s rather dumb-looking grin, his pink, plump, freshly kissed lips quirking upwards at the edges of the mouth. 

Then Phil decides to break their own little silence, not ever glancing at the spectators. He only seems to have eyes for Dan, like he has eyes for him.

“D-did, I, uh, you, I… I mean- um, did you l-like the kiss..”

Phil is stuttering, and Dan can’t help but swoon, the emotion most likely showing all over his stupid grinning features. He is even more adorable as his other, sweet and romantic self! “Hotter than the sweltering California sun, Lester..”

“Ha! I’d like to say I prefer Phil, but maybe after how I’ve behaved-” says Phil, rather quietly. He has averted his eyes but then glances back up, blue eyes swimming with attraction and a want for forgiveness, and also a breeze of empathy. “Sorry for being such a dick to you, Dan.” 

He is overwhelmed by a stream of heart-melting smoke swirling in his chest, and so he decides to spice it up. Dan feels a glint appear in his own eyes, and he smirks cheekily. “Oh don’t worry, I  _ like _ dick!  _ Especially yours _ .”

It makes them both break out into a fit of giggles, and at the same time Phil blushes deeply for the end of the comment. He is still very aware of the glares and stares around them.

“At least you have a sense of humor.”

Phil hums. He is scratching the back of his neck, embarrassment seeping from his pores. “Will you.. uhm…”

“Be your boyfriend?”

“Yeh..”

“Of course.” 

“We’ll work through our animosity and past struggles together? If- if you don’t feel comfortable- um. Yeah. Y’know..”

He smiles. They smile.

“ _ Of course,  _ ravenhair.”

The new nickname makes Phil blush, but his small and sweet smile tells Dan he has something just as cute up his sleeve. “Thank you,  _ bear. _ ”

**_Bear. I like it._ **

“I think I like it..”

“Then keep it?” Phil responds, with a humble, soft smirk.

And this time Dan is the one who catches him in a kiss. It is immediately reciprocated, despite the once more shocked gasps around them, and his heart beats faster immediately. Blood-orange, an aurora dances beneath his eyelids. This is it, isn’t it? Heaven. He has reached his dream; he is with Phil, and Phil is his, and Phil has him. It is a true fairytale. 

And they’ll make sure it lasts forever. 

  
Damn the old rivalry. That was  _ so _ last minute.


End file.
